


you let me breathe instead

by ashers_kiss



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Remix, Self-Worth Issues, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-18
Updated: 2015-01-18
Packaged: 2018-03-08 03:32:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3193664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashers_kiss/pseuds/ashers_kiss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He would never allow her to catch him looking, before, but now he does so openly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you let me breathe instead

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Earth](https://archiveofourown.org/works/440169) by [havisham](https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham). 



> A remix of [zeen](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zeen/pseuds/zeen)'s [Earth](http://archiveofourown.org/works/440169) for Aka's [Snowflake Reverse Remix Comment Challenge](http://akamine-chan.dreamwidth.org/302117.html?style=mine). I highly recommend checking both of them out, they're awesome.
> 
> I'm not entirely sure this fits (first time writing these characters, this pairing, first time doing a remix), but I hope it's enough that you enjoy, zeen. :)
> 
> Also, [Jason Momoa](https://www.google.co.uk/search?q=jason+momoa&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ei=hOy6VJCFDIniaJ65gfAB&ved=0CAgQ_AUoAQ&biw=1368&bih=657#imgdii=_) as Prometheus, y/y? :D?
> 
> Title from Pvris' [St Patrick](http://dark-siren.tumblr.com/post/102387999431/you-give-me-something-to-think-about-thats-not).

He tastes of fire.

He tastes of heat and the sharp crackle of the flame, of woodsmoke heavy on her tongue. He is hot to the touch; Pandora thinks sometimes she must come away with reddened palms, but her skin is as smooth and pale as ever. (She wonders, if he has taken on the markers of his crime, what has she acquired?)

(Actually, no. She’d rather not think of it.)

His gaze is heated too, whenever he looks at her. He would never allow her to catch him looking, before, but now he does so openly. It is a welcome weight, anchoring her to the earth when she has so long felt adrift. She looks her own fill, lets her eyes linger on the curve of muscles that for all their strength could not break Zeus’ chains, the scars that shine against his skin, old and new both. (Still healing, still tender; he sometimes moves stiffly, when he does not think she is watching.)

Pandora meets his eyes and lifts her chin. She does not move as he comes closer (she invited him, as she always does. Some part of her thinks he is waiting for _permission_ ; she is not always entirely sure it is hers he is asking), does not look away as he cradles her face in his hands. He watches her, eyes dark – he has finally learned caution, and it is Pandora – it is always Pandora – who must pull him down into the kiss.

His calluses catch on her jaw, at the softness of her cheeks, but his touch is gentle on her face, reverent as he undresses her (she let him tear her shroud, that first time, but she will not have the same carelessness applied to her clothes), as he pulls her down atop him. There is something about that which makes her _ache_.

So instead she digs nails into his flesh, digs her hands into the thickness of his hair and _tugs_ , and he hisses, arches under her and tips his head back against the ground as his hips buck up. Pandora cannot stop the noise that spills from her, clenches around him in retaliation. He moans then, something deep that seems to shudder through him, and Pandora is helpless to resist, pressing her forehead to his. Those big hands settle on her waist, grounding her, even as his mouth searches for hers. His eyes are closed (trusting her, she thinks, and shudders herself; she is death and disease and sorrow, she is not worthy of trust, least of all his), but still she feels the heat of him, surrounding her, burning through her, if only for a time. Pandora kisses him as she rocks into him, again and again. She meets his thrusts with every one of her own, swallows the noises he makes as her hands roam his body (always something new to discover – the way he whimpers when she scrapes nails over his nipples, the breathy sounds when she presses thumb or lips to the dip of his collarbone, the knot of scarring at one elbow). She shakes around him, and he holds her up even as he jerks at the bite of her nails.

She cannot let him go. She cannot give this up. Never again. Zeus himself will have to pry her fingers from around his wrists, or take them both.

“Thief,” she says against his mouth, and thinks, _Mine._


End file.
